The Children of Urdis (Grimwold and Lethos Book 2) (36 page)

You have a lot of faith in that bull spirit. I'd not be so quick to call on it.

They pushed through the crack and entered into a natural cavern that was lit from another opening to the sky high above. Sea water had settled into puddles here, and they splashed through it to what seemed a man-made ramp of stone that rose to another doorway, a deeper black in the darkness. Sharatar ranged ahead of them, his tall and pale form now like a flickering candle flame as he passed through the shaft of light. "Through here, we will come to the entranceway to the halls below. Our ancestors had to build down to avoid the covetous gazes of the gods."

What ensued next was a long and confusing journey through the gloom and darkness of stone. Lighting was inconsistently provided by oil lamps or strangely glowing blue globes. Galleries and chambers untouched for centuries lined the path Sharatar followed. He stopped at points to touch his forehead and locate his brothers, and each time Lethos felt the pull on his connection with Grimwold. Lethos marveled at all the history and knowledge he must be bypassing. Sharatar himself had to be dragged back into line several times for pausing to display his devotion or awe at some mysterious finding.

Any chatter from the group died as they went deeper into the complex. The weight of the earth seemed to press on them as they descended. At last they came to a huge room of what seemed stone sarcophagi that stretched high above where row upon row of low-burning oil lamps lit the room. Bronze doors covered in patina hung open on the far wall. But straddling this was a massive statue of Urdis the Deceiver. He was naked to the waist, where his body became that of a lion. He wore a mask that made him seem almost reptilian, and hid his eyes in deep shadow.

Sharatar stopped, seemed to struggle, and Lethos felt the tension increase in his connection to Grimwold. At last the storm rider turned with his teeth bared. "They are not far beyond that entrance."

Grimwold smiled and drew his sword. "Good. Time for some blood-letting."

Valda lightly grasped Lethos's arm as they all crossed toward the doors. "What will he do?" she whispered to him.

"What did you think he meant?"

"I mean, will he force them to kill themselves?"

Lethos shrugged. He did not know, nor was he overly concerned how the Tsal died. Valda of all people should be happy to see them suffer for what they did to her parents. Still, he patted her hand and offered what he thought she wanted to hear. "We've come to get your brother and Syrus, as well as the sword. He won't waste time with torturing these monsters."

Sounds of feet sliding over rough stone floors and low voices echoed from the darkness. It seemed Sharatar prepared to do something, either shout or run, but Grimwold's voice boomed out. "Sleep."

Sharatar fell into a pile with a thud, his mouth open and slack as he slept. Grimwold stood over him and prodded him with his boot. "That'll keep him out of our way for the time."

Beyond the doorway all was black. Beneath the statue of Urdis, Lethos felt as if the god himself was glaring down at him from behind the mask. The sounds beyond had grown still, and Grimwold laughed. Without any trace of his power, he called into the dark. "Come out, lads, and greet us properly. Time to join your brothers in death."

Nothing happened, and Lethos suddenly had an urge to step to the side of the doors. He shoved Grimwold toward one side as he dragged Valda with him to the opposite. The cold trickle of ice raced up and down his back.

At first nothing came, and Grimwold frowned across the gloom at him. Then a belch of fire exploded out of the darkness and rolled into the room. It splashed over the stone sarcophagi, and narrowly missed Sharatar on the floor.

Five of the storm riders charged out from behind the attack, swords drawn and expecting resistance. Instead, Grimwold stepped away from the wall, his eyes crazed with the power building in him. The line between his head and Lethos's had grown so taut that he wondered why the storm riders had not tripped over it. Valda squealed at seeing Grimwold and hid her face from him.

"Get on your knees," he commanded. The wave of power from his words struck out, and the charging Tsal stumbled into each other as it crashed over them. Lethos was about to see the dead man's tide in action. According to legend, in Grimwold's raiding days, he pulled men out of the shield wall with his powers and had them kneel for execution. That was the play now, he expected.

The Tsal faced him, and Lethos felt his face flush with heat as Grimwold sucked as much power from him as he could handle. He had once commanded hundreds of men in one swoop, but they were mortal men. These Tsal were something else, and they poured all their hatred into a tenacious resistance of their order. At the very least, they were trapped wavering between obedience and escape, rendering them useless. Lethos could have run them through from behind while they struggled. But he thought Grimwold should know how far he could take these Tsal.

Grimwold's face glowed with madness as he repeated his command. "On your knees!"

The first of them went down, and soon the others followed. Grimwold was slick with sweat and his nose dripped blood, but he had overcome them. Lethos, for his part, also ran with sweat and felt as if he should lie down and sleep. Yet the power ran true from him to Grimwold, and so he held on.

Valda clung to his back. "You're on fire."

"So I noticed," he said with a weak smile.

Grimwold drew his sword, and Lethos noticed it shimmered with a vague violet light. This had been Sharatar's blade. Killing an enemy with his own weapon was the highest insult any Valahurian could think of, but Lethos suspected normal weapons would be less effective against them. Grimwold had apparently planned ahead.

"My queen, here are the scum that helped kill your family. Would you take revenge yourself?"

Valda pulled back, and Lethos heard a gentle gasp. She stepped forward, and Grimwold held out the sword.

Can we have less drama here, Lethos thought. I think we're about to run dry.

If Grimwold heard, he did not acknowledge. He reversed the sword in his grip and extended the hilt to her. She shook her head. "You do this. I ... I will not stain myself with the blood of monsters. I am grateful to you, Grimwold."

He nodded and Valda retreated from the five Tsal struggling against control.

"You can kill us, but it is too late," one of them hissed. "Our people are coming. The way through the mists is open. The king has--"

Grimwold's chop sent the Tsal's head flipping back over his shoulders. Blood jetted into the air, and Valda shrieked. Lethos even flinched away, fearful of what the black blood might bring to him. Grimwold, however, did not worry. He hacked down the line, sometimes taking two strikes to sever a head. With each body that flopped over in death, Lethos felt the demands against his power lessen. When the final one caved to the side like a fallen tree, Lethos was already cooling off.

A massive pool of dark red blood spread out onto the floor. Grimwold wiped the splatter of blood from his face with the back of his arm. Urdis the Deceiver looked down on his fallen children, and Lethos wondered what vengeance the god might take for this atrocity.

"I will wake Sharatar and have him witness his future," Grimwold said. He leaned over the Tsal, and with a word raised him from sleep. "Stand then remain still."

The Tsal immediately began to hiss and spit like the cobra Lethos imagined, and his face grew as ugly as the heart of a demon. "You wretched beasts. Your torment will last forever. I will burn your tongues from your stinking mouths."

"Silence," Grimwold said. Then he turned to Lethos. "Syrus and Thorgis must be close. I think I remember this place. Let's continue on."

Valda gave Lethos a frightened look and let Grimwold and Sharatar pass them before following. She grabbed at Lethos as they entered the following room, which looked as though it had once been set aflame. The scent of ash was fresh. "Grimwold's power is terrifying. A man with such power could rule the world."

Lethos nodded vaguely, more interested in the collections of books and other artifacts the Tsal had been gathering to this place. There seemed some organization to the collections beyond the grouping of similar items.

"That power is dangerous," Valda continued. "He is a threat to everyone."

That brought Lethos up short. He stopped, even as Grimwold and Sharatar continued through to the exit opposite. "Grimwold has never once thought to use his power that way. And I should know, since I get to crawl through that mind of his. He mostly ever dreams about women and gold."

Valda nodded. "Exactly. Two dreams that lead only to power. One day, will a woman of his dreams demand a kingdom of him? An empire? Would anyone be able to stop him?"

Lethos blinked at her. The lamps here were the strange blue globes from the white ark, and made Valda even colder in their light. "We don't have time to worry for this now. He's aiding you, isn't he? Acting for the best interest of Valahur? Should that not satisfy you?"

"You don't understand. I'm not talking about today."

"Then you're talking about a time that may never come, not if the Tsal are not pushed back. So let's keep up with Grimwold, please."

The following room was a multi-tiered pit lit with rows of blue orbs. Both Sharatar and Grimwold were already heading down stairs, and Lethos felt the reach of his connection pulled tight. Grimwold waved them onward as they nearly ran down the stairs to the bottom of this pit. It seemed like a library from all the mouldering rows of books and scrolls he passed. At the bottom, he found books laid out on the floor, many were burned or smashed apart from their bindings.

Sharatar spun around as if searching, and pointed at the far wall. "They are trapped within. I can sense their corrupted blood even from here. It reeks."

Grimwold gave a skeptical look to Lethos. "Are you strong enough to pull away those stones? Looks like it caved in behind them."

Without a word, Lethos went to the rubble against the far wall. Valda followed, and he did not ask why. She would not be of any help here.

Pulling back the rocks was good work for taking his mind off his worries. He soon had cleared through to a blast of air and heard echoes. He looked back at Grimwold with Sharatar standing with his head lowered in shame. Lethos put his face into the opening and called into the darkness.

"Syrus? It's Lethos and Grimwold. We've come to get you out of here. Are you in there?"

He waited, but no reply came, and he decided to continue to dig. As he yanked away a large rock and set it in a pile beside Valda, Syrus's melodious voice came out of the dark.

"Fieyar be praised! It's really you."

Lethos and Grimwold both ran to the wall, and now redoubled their effort to clear the debris. With both of them working, the stones fell aside to reveal a gap large enough for a man to fit. Syrus stood in the gap.

He looked horrible. Renowned for cleanliness in a society that did not value it, Syrus looked worse than the lowest house slave. He was thin, covered in dirt, blood, and scratches. Naked but for a strip of clothing about his waist, he held both arms around himself as he squinted at the low light. He had apparently been stuck in complete darkness.

When he stepped out, Grimwold grabbed him into both arms and hugged him. "You survived. You will be free now."

The invisible line between Lethos and Grimwold's heads snapped.

The power was gone.

As Lethos turned back, Sharatar was already a blur of motion.

He snatched his old sword from Grimwold's belt, snapping the loop and tearing it away with ease. In the same motion he flicked off the sheath.

Grimwold had not even turned about yet, and Sharatar had the weapon in hand. His teeth gleamed in the light as he smiled and the violet blade flashed.

The cobra had its fangs back and no one was ready for it.

CHAPTER FORTY

Lethos could not recall a time the power had ever failed. He had expected something more dramatic, but instead it was just like pouring out the last of wine from a jug. Grimwold had called for more, and it was nowhere to be found. Now Sharatar was free and he stood behind them re-armed and seething with hatred. Grimwold still held Syrus in a welcoming embrace. Valda had not noticed Sharatar's change. Only Lethos seemed aware of the broken connection, and only he was placed to act.

He lunged for Sharatar, arm outstretched to grab the sword. He knew it was asking to be impaled on the blade, but counted on his supernatural resistance for protection.

Rather than strike, Sharatar snapped back out of Lethos's clumsy grab. He hissed as he did. "I have failed my captain and my people. But I can serve them better in death."

Grimwold had turned now and he shouted his command, "Stop."

Lethos felt something brush against his forehead, but there was no power to supply Grimwold's command. His vision grew dark and he thought he might stumble.

Sharatar now reversed his blade and held it to his stomach. He bared his teeth at them then fell on his sword. The blade sank easily through his flesh, tearing out of his back as he collapsed on the floor. He moaned and one arm pulled out from beneath his torso to claw at the stone floor. Then he grew still, an expanding puddle of dark red forming beneath him.

Lethos fell to his knees, barely able to keep his eyes open. "The power is gone," he said to know one in particular.

"It will renew," Grimwold said. He had left Syrus and now knelt beside him, steadying him. "It must be harder to absorb beneath the earth. I had called upon it too often and too hard."

Valda was next to kneel beside him, and her gentle arms replaced Grimwold's. "What were you thinking, lunging at a blade like that?"

"I don't believe I was thinking," he smiled at her grave expression. She just shook her head at his excuse.

Grimwold stood and now turned back to Syrus, who had watched everything unfold with uncharacteristic detachment. Lethos wasn't sure he would recognize him if Grimwold had not, such were the changes his extreme conditions had wrought. Syrus was nearly naked and so bony it seemed he had not eaten in weeks. Behind him, another figure appeared in the gloom.